The Record of a Fallen Swan
by DCflame
Summary: The cast of Princess Tutu is reimagined in a story that is doomed (for real) to end in tragedy. The White Swan, the reincarnation of Odette, must reunite with the reincarnation of Prince Siegfried to restore time and free the people of the land from the loop that controls their lives. But Odile will not let this be - and even if they are reunited, they will not have a happy ending.
1. Prologue: Part One

_If I can meet you someday,_

_If you are waiting for me,_

_Then my long, long journey_

_Was not so bad after all._

* * *

Ahiru smiled and tilted her head up towards the sky. "Ah, a perfect day for a hike!" She raised her lit cigarette back to her lips. "Not a cloud to be seen. Of course, that could be to our disadvantage, knowing how hot it got yesterday, but…"

Behind her, a young man stretched and slid down from his perch on the branch of a tree. "Why does it have to be so damn warm this early in the morning?!"

"Oh, good, you're awake." Ahiru turned to face him. "We're almost out of food – I want to get a move on to the nearest town before the sun gets too high."

Yet groggy from sleep, he rubbed his head. "Yeah, okay. Right. Toss me a cigarette? And have you seen my hair tie?"

"I think you stuffed it in your pack last night." She groped in her pocket for the cigarette pack. "Here you are!" She flicked a fresh cigarette to him. He caught it between two fingers and held it between his teeth as he pulled his hair back.

"So… Shall we go, then?" Ahiru slung her bag over her shoulder and adjusted the strap of her tank top. "It's only gonna get warmer!"

"I know, I know… Just hold on a damn moment." The boy hastily lit his own cigarette and shrugged his pack onto his back. "So… Where are we headed?"

"Down to Newville."

"Never heard of it."

"Thought you'd say that." Ahiru pulled a scuffed, rolled-up piece of paper out of a side compartment of her bag and tossed it to him. "It's pretty small, and pretty old – kinda weird that it's called Newville, right? Anyways, I heard it's got some shops and a market, and that's good enough for stocking up."

He examined the map with an absent eye, lips mashing the edge of his cigarette. He finally nodded and handed it back to her. "So, do you… feel any closer today?"

"No, silly!" She slapped him good-naturedly on the shoulder. "We haven't changed position since we set up camp last night, so of course I wouldn't feel any differently! Unless…" She tilted her head back up to the sky. "…He had moved."

The boy swallowed and grimaced. "Let's get a move on, already!"

"Hey! I'm the impatient one here, Fakir!" Ahiru laughed and struck him again on the shoulder, knocking him off balance. "Oops… Sorry."

He picked himself up quickly and slapped the dust off of his hands. "Not a big deal."

Smiling, she started through the forest ahead of him.

He stood for a moment, watching her, before starting after her.

After a half hour of hiking through the thick forest, they came to an open field. In the distance, a small town was visible. Ahiru sighed and stretched her arms up over her head. "Finally... Phew. It was getting really stuffy in those woods."

Fakir adjusted his pack and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "So what do we need to pick up?"

"Bread, salted beef, and fruit leather. You know... the usual."

"Right. And... cigarettes."

"Of course, cigarettes."

"Always cigarettes."

"Always."

"And oil."

"Of course."

"Always oil."

"Stop it!" Ahiru laughed. Fakir broke into a grin. "Yes, cigarettes, and yes, oil. Okay?"

"Just making sure you're on top of things." Fakir chuckled and exhaled, a steady stream of smoke wisping from his lips.

"Of course I am. I'm the one keeping track of the supplies, am I not?"

They came to a cobblestone road leading directly to Newville's town square. The town consisted mostly of brick and stone houses and buildings, all packed tightly together, with luscious spots of grass and dandelions for yards.

"Mm. It's nice to be back in civilization." Ahiru stomped out her cigarette. "Hey, I'm going to find someplace to wash our dirty clothes. Are you okay with grabbing supplies?"

"Yeah. No problem." Fakir undid his ponytail, shaking out the scraggly locks, before retying it neatly. "Let's see... bread, salted beef, and cigarettes."

"And fruit leather."

"Oh, come on! I hate that crap! Why do we keep wasting money on it?!"

"It's part of a well-balanced diet. Deal with it. Now give me your dirty laundry."

"You can't handle my dirty laundry."

"Oh, please. We've been with each other through sickness and health. I think I can handle some grimy clothes."

"Alright. Don't say I didn't warn you." Fakir dropped his pack and pulled out a handful of fabric. "There." He tossed it to Ahiru.

"Hm... It smells like... sweat, grease, dirt, and skunk... In other words, just like you!"

"Shut up." Fakir grimaced. "I warned you, didn't I?"

Ahiru sighed. "You really can't take a joke, can you?" She folded her arms around the clothes. "It looks like there's a store over there." She nodded to a squat building at the opposite corner of the square. "You should be able to find what we need over there." She started down the lane.

Fakir paused before starting his own way, watching her stride away. Then he turned around, scuffing the ground violently and cursing his own touchiness. "Damn it!"

He tilted his head back, taking a deep breath, and swung up his pack. He stormed off towards the shop, his head bent in regret.

* * *

It felt like she had walked quite a ways when Ahiru came to a clear stream running along the outside of the town. There were two other women further down washing clothes and gossiping, and Ahiru dropped the clothes next to the water's edge.

"Let's see..." She pulled out a bar of soap and sighed. "Oh, man, maybe I should've asked Fakir to take care of the clothes instead. I'm better at haggling, after all, and... I suck at cleaning clothes." She shook her ragged bangs out of her eyes and grit her teeth in determination. "Oh, well. I can do it. It shouldn't be too hard... Just need some soap and water." She awkwardly pulled out the first garment from the pile. "Let's see... Fakir's jacket." She was about to dunk it into the stream when she spotted a gash on its shoulder. "Hm?" She smoothed it out and took a good look at it. She sighed again. "Ah, Fakir. Another tear? I wonder why he didn't say anything about it."

_There must be some way to fix it..._ She dug through her pack. _Let's see..._

Her hand came into contact with a smooth box. She pulled it out eagerly. "Fakir's sewing kit!"

Fakir hated sewing, it was true, but Ahiru lacked the 'delicacy' to do such tasks, so he had taken over in that area. He hated any mention of the kit, or even of the fact that he could sew quite well, and Ahiru smiled. "He'll be happy to see that I can fix it myself!" She pulled out the shiniest sewing needle and some plain thread. "Okay... Right. Just..." She pricked her finger. "Ouch! God dammit!" She wrung her hand in pain.

The two women looked up from their laundry and stared at her.

She smiled back sheepishly. "Nothing wrong here!"

Their gaze continued to burn into her for a long moment, and she felt them scrutinizing her. The patched tank top, the stained pants, her messy braid... That layer of dusty dirt that she could never quite clean out from her fingernails or cheeks.

Then their gaze fell upon the matching markings on her arms and the backs of her hands.

A long, silver tattoo wrapped around the trunk of each arm, ending in a swirl on the hand. Perched upon the swirl was a single swan.

Their expressions became one of outright disgust. She could almost hear their shrill thoughts - What was a young girl doing with such elaborate and flashy tattoos? What kind of family produced such a mess?

Despite their patronizing behavior and the hot flush that rose up her neck, her grin didn't falter. Finally, they turned back to their superfluous chatter.

She exhaled. _Sure, I might not be a proper lady, but... Who are they to judge me? When you're like me, you don't really get the time to be a lady. And what fun is there in corsets and dresses, anyways? _Her hand itched for the cigarette pack in her back pocket, and her fingers twitched.

_When you're like me..._

She stared at the marks on her arms that had caught their attention. She brushed her fingers over the silver trail. It was not a tattoo or paint, but a birthmark that was part of her skin. A unique birthmark, and one that labelled her as who she really was.

Nobody understood the marks, besides a handful of other people. Everyone else was unaware, oblivious, even though the marks had a direct correlation to their own fates.

Nobody else truly understood.

She sighed and let herself go in a moment of reflection.

_It's been eighty years..._

_...and I am the fourth reincarnation._

_It's funny. That doesn't sound like much, but... When you have the memories of five other people, it really is quite the rush._

_Five other people who lived and died chasing the same goal, the same fate..._

She bit her lip._ I am Ahiru Arima, the fourth White Swan, the fourth reincarnation... of Odette._

_Wow... What a long title._

The sound of somebody clearing their throat startled her. She turned towards them.

It was one of the women from before. Ahiru tensed.

But the woman hadn't come to be snarky. To the contrary, she grinned hesitantly and held out a bucket and washboard. "Would... you like some help with those?"

Ahiru's eyes widened as she realized that this was a peace-offering, and she looked back at the clothes before her. "Y... Yes! Thank you!"

* * *

Fakir made his way slowly around the shop, taking in all of the merchandise. He'd learned this from Ahiru - always look carefully and observe before buying. It was useful to get a feel for the shop and kind of products they sold, and what they charged, to better haggle with the merchant. That might sound frugal and peckish, but when one was living day to day, bartering was a crucial skill and serious business.

He finally picked out the goods they needed and made his way to the merchant's counter. The merchant, a portly man with arms like a bear's, took him in with a practiced eye. "Anything else I can help you with?"

"Yeah, I was wondering if you sold cigarettes here?"

"Yeah. One moment." The man slowly slid off his stool and made his way to a cabinet in the back.

Fakir inhaled deeply, savoring the coolness of the shop. He flicked the ashes off of his cigarette into a nearby ashtray and took a long drag. Summer was wearing on him, and he wasn't looking forward to going back out into the sun and heat. But... For Ahiru, he would.

Of course he would. She was everything to him. They'd grown up together, after all, in the same nomadic camp in the distant mountains of the west. When she'd become old enough to understand the weird dreams she had of young women visiting her, the weird flashbacks she had of a life that was not her own, she had told him of her intention to fulfill the goal she'd been born with...

Find the prince, her beloved, and restore time.

There was no way he'd let her set off on such a journey herself.

So they packed their clothes and said their goodbyes...

And set off to find her prince.

Her prince. Her true love. Fakir's hand shook as he steadied his cigarette. But the older he got, the harder it was to swallow that. She was now within reach of that goal, and he had no idea in hell of what that meant for him.

His feelings for her were doomed. But...

"Here you are." The merchant set a case of fine cigars before him.

"What...? These aren't cigarettes!" Fakir yelped. "These are cigars! I can't afford these!"

"Can't afford, don't complain," the man muttered, closing the case.

"Wait...!" On impulse, Fakir rose his hand, gesturing for the man to stop. "Do you have anything... girly in there?"

* * *

Ahiru was on her way back to the shop where she'd left Fakir. The woman, seemingly consumed with guilt for her shallowness, had helped her string the clothes up to dry, and now Ahiru couldn't wait to show Fakir the new handiwork on his jacket.

She hadn't had any other fabric to use, so she'd cut a patch off of her own jeans to cover the tear. It didn't bother her - her jeans were plenty long enough, the hole didn't show - and she felt better, knowing that his jacket would once again fulfill its duty.

"The breeze won't get in, anyways," she murmured to herself, admiring the patch.

She was almost through the shop's door, her hand on the doorknob, when a corner of the patch came loose.

"No no NO!" She held it down with desperate fingers. "I can't give it to Fakir like this! I'd better do a quick repair..." She pulled back out the sewing kit and was halfway through resewing the patch when she heard Fakir's voice and the merchant's come through the cracked door.

* * *

"Girly?" The man looked at him in bored disbelief.

"Yeah. Something..." Fakir scratched his head. "Feminine?"

"Feminine?" The merchant sat back on his stool. "You mean, for a woman?"

"Yeah." Fakir's confidence was diminishing by the second.

But the merchant, after regarding him for a long moment, broke into a smile. "I see. Have anything to do with that redhead you entered town with?"

Fakir was caught off-guard. "You mean... Ahiru?"

"Yep. If that's her name. You travelling with her?"

"...How'd you...?"

"I have windows, you know. And we don't get a lot of visitors here. Stuck in the middle of goddamn nowhere, after all. She your girl?"

Fakir turned red with anger and embarrassment. "No! How dare you..." His hands balled into fists ontop of the counter. "Look, how much?"

"How much for what?"

"For the goddamn cigar!"

"You mean, the girly one you're after?"

"YES!"

"I don't got any. Girly cigars aren't popular 'round here."

"For the love of..." Fakir slammed his fist on the counter in rage and shot up. "I'll go get the stupid supplies somewhere else..."

The merchant continued to smile as Fakir stormed away. He spoke up once more. "You know, there are better ways to tell a woman how you feel than with cigars."

Fakir halted, his back still to him. "...Ahiru... She... She's not like other girls."

"Mm?"

"She's not into candy, or dresses, or... She does like candy, but-"

"Not what I meant." The merchant adjusted his shirt collar.

Fakir was silent.

"If you love a woman... If there's anything I've learned... Presents can only tell so much." The merchant smiled wistfully. "Better to tell and get it over with, than wallow in receipts and regret."

Fakir's voice was only a whisper. "...It will never happen."

"Don't know 'til you try."

"I appreciate the advice, but..." Fakir reached for the doorknob. "It just..." His grip tightened on the knob until his knuckles were white. "It just won't happen."

"Don't know 'til you try," the merchant said again as Fakir exited the shop.

* * *

Ahiru scrambled away from the shop and past its corner as she heard Fakir's footsteps approach the door. Her heartbeat was a drum in her ears, the rush of her pulse making her dizzy. She could feel the flush, prickling hot, rise up her neck...

_Fakir... Fakir... Has feelings... for me...?_

She took a moment to catch her breath, leaning back against the clapboard of the shop's exterior. _He..._ She began to grin. _He..._

Then her smile dropped. _No... No... This is the worst thing that could've happened!_ She ran her hands up her forehead, grabbing at her bangs. _I am fated to - I can't - he -_

_But... He loves me, regardless?_

_And I... I..._

The crunch of Fakir's boots came closer, and she jolted upright once more.

His eyebrows rose in surprise, seeing her so close. He halted and took her in. "Hey."

"Hey." Her voice was jerky and awkward.

"What's wrong?" Fakir's brow furrowed. "Did you wash the clothes?"

"Y-Yes!" Ahiru's eyes widened a bit too exuberantly as she scrambled to hand him his clothes. "Oh, and - and you got a tear in your jacket, so..." She mopped a bead of sweat off her grimy forehead. "So I tried to patch it!" Breathless, she held it up for him to see.

He said nothing, his expression puzzled by her behavior.

"Well?! Take it!" She chucked it into his arms. "Kind of a crappy job, I know, but..." Her shaking hand reached for the cigarette pack in her pocket. She pulled one out with unsteady fingers and lit it, inhaling deeply and savoring its bitter smoke. "I suck at sewing. You know that." She laughed jitterly and shrugged.

"Are you alright?" He moved to put his hand on her forehead. "I'm sensing more idiocy than usual..."

"Jerk!" She batted his hand away. "I-It's nothing."

He stared at her, concerned, for another long moment. Then his expression broke into one of horrified understanding. "You... Did you... How long have you been out here?" His own hands began to shake.

"Not long!" She squeaked. "I just - just had to finish that patch, is all. I... I'm sorry." She sighed and drooped her head. "It's been a really long day."

"Right..." His voice was unsteady.

"C'mon." She began to regain her mental footing. "Let's go find somewhere to pitch a tent."

They began to walk back through the town, an awkward distance between them.

* * *

Meanwhile, miles away, a young man was urging his horse to go faster. They trampled in a blur over the rough, pock-marked dirt road and through clumps of trees.

"C'mon!" He hissed to the horse. The stallion strained its neck, trying to push its limits, but could not go any faster.

Breaking out into a cold sweat, he looked behind them.

There was nothing but a solid mile of shadowed forest, and yet he felt the sinister presence that had encroached him for weeks continue to close in.

Breathing heavily, he leaned further down. _I can feel her, Odette... She's still several miles off, though._

_But I must reach her... I must reach her._

_Before the black swan reaches me._

_And we meet the same fate of our predeccesors._

He looked over his shoulder once more.

In time to his thoughts, a single black feather fell from the tree that had just been overhead.

* * *

Author's notes: I want to keep this very short and simple for this fanfiction, because the point is the story.

My warning for you is... Don't get too attached.

Inspired by a mix of Swan Lake, Princess Tutu, and The Record of a Fallen Vampire. Would not exist without the theme of Schindler's List, the Twilight score, or Close Our Eyes by Chelsea Lankes.

If you would like to see my own rendering of this version of the PT cast, please visit my Deviantart profile, QCleaf, where I've posted some comics and sketches on this fanfic.


	2. Prologue: Part Two

Ahiru and Fakir were almost outside of the town when a caw sounded from a nearby tree.

"What's that?" Ahiru automatically turned towards the sound.

Upon a dead, lightning-scarred tree with no leaves, several crows were perched.

Their eyes glittered blood red in the bright sunlight, and they were jeering at the two humans.

It was preposterous to think that a group of animals could house familiar and outright hostility towards humans they'd never met, and that just added to the chill.

A rush of energy, like electric needles in her veins, flowed through Ahiru, and with a wave of terror she understood.

"No..." She whispered. "Not yet. Not this soon!"

"What does this mean?!" Fakir hissed, rounding on her. "What's going on?!"

Ahiru grit her teeth.

Then she relaxed and smiled that grin of determination, jamming her cigarette more securely between her lips.

"Odile has shown herself at last."

* * *

"Odile... It's been sixteen years since someone's called me by that name."

In a thicket of trees that the sunlight could not brighten, a dark, sultry figure stared into a crystal ball in its hands.

In the sphere, as if one was seeing through the eyes of the crows, one could easily see Ahiru and Fakir.

"Found you," the figure snickered after a long moment. "And not a moment too soon."

Then, in a whirlwind of black feathers, the figure was gone.

* * *

"Odile?!" The moment felt surreal to Fakir. For months upon months they'd been searching, following her link to the prince, and now... They were about to meet Odette's sworn enemy.

"This isn't good, of course." Ahiru's expression didn't change. "But I can feel the prince getting steadily closer... And he should reach us within a few hours." She hoisted up her pack and held out her hand to Fakir. "This is it."

Fakir looked at her hand, gleaming in the sunlight with sweat and dust and pale skin. He hesitated and reached for it, but couldn't bring himself to take it. His hand fell awkwardly. "Ahiru..."

The thick silence swept over her like an alarm, and she dropped her hand as well. "What is it?"

Fakir looked at her with those unfathomable eyes. She always wished she could read his mind and know what he was thinking... His eyes always seemed to be full of some pain or another; yet what caused the pain, she was never sure of.

"When you go... with the prince..." Fakir lowered his head so she couldn't see those dastardly silent green eyes and grit his teeth. "When you... leave..." He clenched his hands.

It was high-time he came to terms with this. Ahiru had told him already of the situation based on her own inherited memories, and he knew it by heart.

When the White Swan died, time reset itself again to the day of Odette's death. And that same day, the next White Swan was born - and the people of the land lived life the exact same way, with the exact same actions and events, with each cycle, unless one of the three people not held by the curse - The White Swan, Odile, or the prince's reincarnation - interracted with them. And even so, once that cycle was done, they did not remember having met them.

If the White Swan succeeded in reuniting with the prince and they both confessed their love, time would be restored to the day of Odette's death, with the White Swan as Odette and the prince's reincarnation as Prince Siegfried. And time would continue as if their struggle had never existed.

And so, no matter how things ended this time around...

Time would reset again. He would live the life he would've had if he hadn't met Ahiru. And he would not remember her.

And if Ahiru lived and was reunited with her prince...

She would not remember him, either.

Ahiru stared at Fakir, her lips parted in wonder.

"Will you promise..." He ground out the words.

"Yes?" Her voice was barely audible.

"Will you..." His knuckles were starch-white. Then abruptly his hands unclenched, and he looked back up at her evenly. His green eyes seemed strangely closed off.

_Will you promise to remember me?_

He couldn't say it.

He couldn't face it yet.

Ahiru bit her lip.

"I'll fight alongside you. Against Odile. So you... So you can be with your prince."

A wet glassiness swept over Ahiru's eyes, and the watery blue sparkled in the hot sun.

Neither of them said anything for a minute.

Finally, Ahiru spoke. "I... I know you will, Fakir." She smiled with sorrow. "Thank you. For coming with me all this way... It means a lot to me." Her smile hazed over, and a tear began to well over -

"Hey, come on. Why cry?" Fakir reprimanded her, though his voice seemed weak even to him.

This was the end of their journey together.

* * *

Panting, he slid off his horse and tethered it to a post. He stroked it reassuringly. "Everything's alright," he whispered to it.

Of course, he was brave enough to admit that his words were just as much for himself as for the animal.

He turned back to the town. "So this is Newville... I can feel Odette's presence. The White Swan..." He closed his eyes, gathering the memories of his previous lives. The White Swan... Always a redhead, always with that fire of determination in her eyes.

And yet...

It shook his core to even touch upon the memories of his past selves' deaths, and the deaths of the White Swan.

It was always merciless, always brutal, and always at the hands of Odile.

He prayed the latest one would not meet the same fate.

And with that thought, he sprinted off down the cobblestone road of the village.

* * *

"Through here!" Ahiru led Fakir through an alley. They were sprinting, racing against time, to meet with the prince... And the sense of urgency was a pound in their veins. The shadows were getting longer; the sun had soared past its peak in the sky. The looming darkness crowded and oozed about them around every corner.

The sinister cold that had followed the prince's reincarnation was now enveloping the whole village. Crows were gathering abundantly atop rooftops and on fences, shrieking at the pair as they searched.

"Dammit," Fakir spat as they reached the end of the alley.

It was a dead-end.

A flock of crows landed behind them, blocking their escape. Their ruby eyes gleamed, and they were far too large to be normal crows.

Ahiru glared at them and rose her arms.

"Minions of the black swan... Begone, crows!"

The silver tattoos lit with the power she'd inherited from Odette as the White Swan.

Fakir shielded his eyes, but didn't take his gaze from her.

Her bangs and braid drifted up into the air as if caught in a nonexistent breeze. She closed her eyes for a moment, then -

"HEYAH!"

Her arms flashed forward, fingers pointed at the crows.

A blast of silvery light shot forth from her hands. The crows screamed as the burst washed over them, and rocketed away. But their feathers were ablaze with a shimmery white fire, and they were quickly consumed by it, disintegrating into bits of dark energy.

Ahiru heaved a sigh and smiled. "Been a while since I did that. Wonder if there's more on the way?" She cocked her head back to look at the sky. "Not to worry, though. I've still got it!" Her fingers flexed.

Fakir's brow furrowed. _Odile... So we're finally going to face her. After all this time, we meet the villain..._

_But what's worse is that she successfully killed off the first four White Swans with ease._ He stared at Ahiru, his stomach knotting at the thought of her death.

_Weren't they all just as determined?_

_Weren't they all as certain that..._

He grit his teeth.

_...They would be the one to reunite with the prince?_

He was so lost in thought that he didn't hear the rush of air behind him.

But Ahiru did, and she spun on the ball of her foot.

Fakir looked up. "What-?"

Ahiru sprinted and rocketed over him, clearing him with a good foot to spare.

Her eyes snapped with fury, and she met the crows head on.

Within seconds, it was all over, the crows reduced to shadowy shards.

Her chest heaving, she looked back at Fakir. The white glow faded from her tattoos. "You okay?"

"Y-yeah." He stood, shocked, watching the remains of the crows disintegrate into the shimmering air. Then he shook his head. "I could've taken 'em, you know. I'm not a helpless idiot!"

She stared at him, her expression conflicted. _Fakir may be strong, but he can't use magic... Odile and her powers are physically weak against the arms of the White Swan; the will of Odette..._

_I stand a chance in this upcoming battle..._

_...But does Fakir?_

Ahiru bit her lip.

_And if Odile killed the other White Swans with little trouble..._

_...What does that mean for a White Swan's ally?_

_I... I have to be prepared for anything._

_I can't..._

Ahiru sighed and brushed her bangs back, staring up at the sky.

_I can't let Fakir die for me._

_He's..._

She looked at Fakir, standing there, puzzled by her torn gaze. His dark, tousled hair shown in the late afternoon sunlight, and his dark green eyes were just shadowed enough by his bangs to seem black.

_He's everything to me._

She took a deep breath.

"Fakir. I... I can't let you fight Odile."

His lips moved soundlessly in dismay. Then his thick eyebrows came together, and he let loose. "What are you talking about?!"

"It will be difficult enough for me to battle her, let alone you... My arms only give me a slight advantage. And if that wasn't even enough for the past White Swans... What does it mean for you?"

"I don't care!" His eyes were half-mad with desperation. "I won't let you fight her by yourself! I don't care what injury I have to take! No pain would be greater than losing you!"

Ahiru smiled at him sadly.

"Even if I can only be a distraction! ANYTHING!" Fakir punched the nearby brick wall. "You have to live! You have to! Because if you die..." His eyes squeezed shut. "So will I!"

Ahiru bowed her head. "Fakir, I..."

He glanced up.

"I feel the same way about you." Her tattoos began to glow.

His face collapsed into one of vulnerability. An icy dampness he'd never felt before flooded his chest. "Ahiru..."

_Be safe, Fakir. And please... Don't hate me._

She rose her arms. "The power of the White Swan... Protect him and watch over him!" A silver bubble flowed from her hands and around Fakir. _The power of the White Swan comes from love... This is the power of how I feel for you, Fakir... Please stay safe._

Fakir began to feel drowsy. He was surrounded by a silver haze. "No... Ahiru...!" He reached feebly for her.

"Don't worry about me, Fakir." Her smile was eclipsed by streaming tears. "The spell will keep you safe. You'll just be asleep. I'll release the spell the moment I win..." _And if I don't... The spell will end with my life._

"Ahiru..." Her mesmerizing eyes were all he could see in a wave of whiteness. _I promised... to protect you...! I can't... let you... please don't... don't..._ "Don't..."

_Don't die..._

Then he was asleep.

Ahiru waited until his eyes were closed.

Then she fell to her knees and wept.


	3. Prologue: Part Three

"Ah..." The young man staggered to a halt, clutching his chest. _Sorrow... I feel so overwhelmed with grief... Why? Could this be..._ He grimaced. _...because of my connection to the White Swan? Is this what she's feeling?_

The darkness was awash over him now. The sun had nearly set, and he knew his time was almost up.

He stumbled forward. _Can't... stop now... I'm so close... Just one more..._

He fell to his knees. _Block..._

He gasped and rubbed over his heart. _I've pushed myself too hard, riding for almost three days straight, and now this..._

_I've been on the run for most of these past two years..._

_...But I'm so close. Fatigue will not keep me from my goal!_

There was the sound of quiet footsteps patting towards him over the dirt.

His head snapped back up. His breath caught in his throat.

The shadows reached with black, fathomless fingers around him. The last of the sunlight disappeared - he was surrounded by cold shadows. He rolled onto his side to look back at the encroaching darkness.

A figure with pale skin sauntered towards him.

He wanted to yell, to warn Odette, but he couldn't. He tried to back away, but his limbs were sluggish and wouldn't respond to his urging.

The young woman finally stepped out of the abyss of black, her features becoming sharply defined...

But he'd known before he'd even seen her who she was. It was clear in the aura of shadow, the crows that cawed in the distance.

Odile had come.

She smiled at him, teeth gleaming like pearls in the dim light. Her dark, nearly black, hair tumbled behind her shoulders into waves of curved and feathered edges. And her dress was all in black, with a plunging neckline, and trimmed in raven's feathers.

Those lips, painted in shiny red lipstick, parted.

"My prince."

He cringed at her voice. So smooth, so sensual and seductive. It was a tempting voice... Which disturbed him all the more when he thought of the people the owner of that satin voice had killed.

"I think an introduction is in order, although, surely, you know who I am." She cupped together her hands - how white and pale, how smooth and untouched, her skin was. An orb of black energy simmered above her palms, and within moments a black feather appeared in its center.

"I am Odile. Your princess." She held the feather out to him with a flourish and a smile.

He shirked away.

"Oh, come now. I know things have been rough these past eighty years..." She went to him and gently slid the black feather into his hair. "But it's all been for the sake of our love."

He swallowed in fury. "How can you say that?" He hissed. "When you've - you've..."

Odile sighed. "Oh dear. Here we go. But first, before the drama starts... Perhaps someplace more private, where that cursed White Swan won't interfere?" She snapped her fingers.

The street disappeared.

The young man whirled. _Where-?!_

They were now alone in what appeared to be a roomy shed.

"No one will bother us here. It shall just be you and me." Odile beamed at him. "Now, let's discuss this little farce." She snapped her fingers again, and he was sitting on a black, ornate, wrought-iron chair. Two bands of metal shot out of the arms and wrapped around his wrists. He flexed and strained against the restraints, but to no avail. He began to sweat as he realized the jeopardy he was in. _She has me backed into a corner..._

"Now, then." Odile sat opposite him in a matching chair, minus the restraints, of course, that materialized behind her. "I understand we've had our distances these past several decades... But, you know... I have loved you longer than Odette. And I love you more."

"I highly doubt that," he snapped, still pulling desperately at the binds.

"Come now," she scoffed. "Certainly none of those White Swans have anything on her - and if she's not equal to me, what does that say for them?"

Something in him snapped at the mention of the White Swans. In a flash, he saw each of their faces... Blood stained and lifeless.

"Those girls suffered because of the curse you laid on this land!" He yelled at her. "The White Swan was the accumulation of Odette's desire to set your wrong to right! Leave them out of this!"

"But you are aware that the White Swans contain part of Odette's essence, right?" Odile asked, crossing her legs.

"They were still their own persons... They all had fine qualities," he whispered.

"Oh, please," Odile laughed cruelly. "Ignorant little gnats is what they were - not knowing what they were messing around with. That first one, she was quite arrogant. The one after her, reluctant in her role. And the third... Well, she was smart, I'll say that, but ultimately arrogant too."

The young man bit his lip. "Every person has flaws. And to be chosen as the White Swan... They were above the rest."

"Enough about them," Odile scoffed. "I want to talk about us."

"I don't."

Odile's eyes burned. "You do know that I am the one with the power here, correct? I'd be careful if I were you. Wouldn't want that current White Swan to pay for your insolence, would we?"

His heart dropped at the mention of the recent White Swan. "She... What is she like?" He asked hoaresly before he could stop himself.

Odile seemed taken aback. She stared at him for a long moment with an unreadable expression. Then her eyes hardened again. "She's a filthy orphan. That's what she is."

He clenched his jaw.

Odile saw his reaction and smiled, getting up off her chair in a haughty manner and sauntering to him. "She was born in some dirty, flea-bitten nomadic camp about three hundred miles from here, from what I've heard. In those barbaric mountains. Sure, she's spunky and a survivor..."

She leaned close to him.

"But that's not the interesting part. You know that when she was born, no family would claim her? She was born alone, discovered abandoned in the middle of the camp, because of those unspeakable silver tattoos on her arms."

He swallowed hard.

"And they named her Ahiru. You know what that means?"

She leaned back to smile at him, malice in her eyes.

"Duck."

She laughed then, plucking the feather from his hair and twirling it in her fingers. "Of all the ironic things. Duck! Because of her lisp and manner. Ah..." She sighed contentedly. Then she whirled back to him.

"A duckling cannot compare to a swan!"

Her shout resonated in his ears, but he did not give in. "She is Odette, and she is my true love. And I will not give in to your sickening wiles."

Odile seemed frozen. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. After a few moments, she was able to speak. "You don't care the least bit about me?"

The young man did not reply.

A frenzy lit in Odile's eyes. She ran her finger along the edge of of the feather. The barbs became sharp, like a knife's serrated edge, where her skin touched it. Then she smirked.

"But you're still worried about Ahiru, is that right?" Odile asked, tracing the razor edge of the feather along his jawline.

The young man did not answer, his stare full of despise.

"You needn't worry," Odile leaned in to whisper again, her lips inches from his ear. "I'll take good care of her."

He grit his teeth, but did not turn his head to acknowledge her.

Finally, Odile moved back, sighing. She brushed a lock of white hair out of his eyes. "Funny… So far, you're the reincarnation most like my Siegfried, and yet… You despise me so. Tell me, how does that work? Why is that?" Her eyes peered earnestly into his. He returned the gaze, but his expression remained molded with rage.

_You already know the answer._

Odile sighed again and patted his head tenderly. "Ah, well. I suppose it's about time to bring this cycle to a close, hm? After all, it's clear you're not the reincarnation I've been waiting for. No matter how much like my beloved prince you are."

He remained silent with solidarity.

"Oh, come now." Odile tilted her head and smiled at him. "No last words? No confession of love for your dear Odette? Or, in the form she is now, your dear, pathetic duckling? No words of venom, no curses, no oaths of revenge?"

He did not answer her.

"Have it your way." Odile shrugged bitterly. "I suppose it makes no difference in the end. For Ahiru will die, and you with her. And the cycle can begin again."

For the first time, at the mention of Ahiru's death, his's eyes changed.

"Oh, what's the matter?" Odile murmured, grasping the feather in a renewed grip. "You're afraid for your Ahiru?" She moved closer to him once more, the sharp tip of the feather poking into his chest above his heart.

He swallowed, and tears began to pool in his eyes. "She doesn't deserve to die. Never her. If anyone, Odile… You're the one who everyone would be better off without."

Odile bit her lip. A drop of blood oozed from her mouth. She pressed the feather further into his chest.

"I'll remember that when it's Ahiru's turn."

He closed his eyes.

Odile took a deep breath.

Then, with a savage scream, she flung her arm up. Black thorned vines appeared in a flash and bound themselves around him.

"I change my mind," she laughed, throwing her head back. "I'll tie you up instead. This will be a lesson for the next reincarnation of Siegfired to learn from." She savagely tore off part of his sleeve and stuffed it into his mouth. "I won't kill you first. That's too easy. No, I'll go for Ahiru. I think we both know who'll win," she added, tightening the vines casually. "And you can sit here, tied up, powerless to help that quacking Odette."

Still giggling, her eyes on the verge of madness, Odile stepped backwards. The eerie black shadows swooped around her. "See you next lifetime, my prince!" she called. Then she was gone.

He struggled violently against the binds, the chair rocking with his effort. But it was of no use. The White Swan - no, Ahiru - was on her own against Odile.

The mad, ruthless, cunning Odile.

_I think we both know who'll win._

He flung his head back and screamed, his voice muffled by the cloth.


	4. Prologue: Part Four

Warning: This is a very intense and violent part. Be warned.

* * *

Ahiru halted and stared ahead, her eyes wide with horror. "What – What's happened?!"

There was a fork in the village street ahead of her. "Which way – Which way?!" _Whichever one will take me to the prince, of course, but… Where is he? _She waited a moment, expecting to feel the familiar tug that had always led her in the direction of the prince. But now, as the seconds ticked by, she realized that the distance had lengthened impossibly fast within moments. The meaning of this set in like ice throughout her body.

Ahiru screamed in anguish. "Prince! Where have you gone?!" Her hands felt in the air, her eyes mad with sorrow. "I can't feel you close anymore! Where are you?! The connection-!"

"Don't worry about him, Ahiru."

Ahiru whipped around.

Odile had appeared, the flurry of black feathers disappearing about her. Her arms were crossed, and her lips were set in a hard line.

Ahiru tensed. "You know my name already... Odile?"

"But of course." Odile sauntered closer. "I've been keeping tabs on you. A predator must always keep a close eye on their prey."

Ahiru refused to show fear. She stepped closer as well. "So you're Odile... You don't look worthy of even _her_ name." She chuckled in dark amusement. Odile's eyes narrowed. "You're just like a crow made out of shadows. You look like a Kraehe." Her voice was shaking, and she quickly steadied it. "What did you do to the prince?!"

"That does not concern you. You'll be cold and dead within an hour, anyways." Odile gave a short, harsh laugh and delicately flicked a piece of straw from her skirt.

"I wouldn't be so certain if I were you." Ahiru spat out her cigarette, crushing the stub under her boot's heel, and lit a new one. The tip of it glowed bright against the darkening twilight. "I have the memories of my predecessors. I won't make their mistakes. And I've been doing training of my own."

"Don't be so cocky," Odile laughed again, a high, cold sound. "You might be the White Swan, but you're not as powerful as all that. All I have to do is catch you off guard – and at that moment, I'll take you out."

Ahiru's heart pounded, and sweat broke out on her forehead. Yet her expression was determined, and she lifted her arms. She had trained her whole life for this moment, and she felt a steady inferno within her rise to the challenge. "Can you?" Despite her nerves, she smiled.

It was at that moment that she knew this was the chance she'd been waiting decades for as Odette.

Odile glared at her.

Their gazes met evenly, and then they were off.

Ahiru sprinted towards Odile, stripping off her gloves and throwing them onto the dirt. Underneath, the marks of the White Swan had already begun to glow, and the shine rose to a blinding glare.

Odile flew to meet her, and they collided in the middle of the square. Ahiru grabbed the front of Odile's dress, hoisting her through the air and throwing her hard onto the ground. Odile's arm shot out as she arched through the air, and razor-sharp feathers flew out of her skin towards Ahiru. Ahiru pivoted on the ground, raising her leg to narrowly miss a dangerously close feather. Coming down off of the pivot, Ahiru brought her boot down, aiming at Odile's arm.

Odile flipped off of the ground and to a safe distance away from Ahiru. Ahiru's boot met with the empty ground, cracking the dry dirt.

Odile smiled, examining Ahiru with a contemplative eye. "You're certainly bolder than your previous incarnations, I'll give you that." Then she dropped into a cartwheel, circling Ahiru. Too fast to track, feathers shot from her body.

Ahiru's arms flashed to block and deflect away feather after feather. They all fell quickly to the ground.

Ahiru's attention had been commanded by the feathers, leaving her open to be attacked manually. Odile shot towards her, her legs a blur. Her arm came down, meeting Ahiru's open palm with a crash. Backtracking, Odile swung her foot around to clip Ahiru's inner knee. Ahiru fell to her shins, but didn't pause as she grabbed Odile by the torso and slammed her back down onto the ground. Cracks rippled out from Odile's body in the stone and dirt.

Odile flipped upright, landing behind Ahiru and wrapping her thighs around her neck. With an easy twist, she threw Ahiru to the ground in a chokehold. She pulled another feather from her opposite arm and aimed for Ahiru's neck.

"Not that easily!" Ahiru snarled as the feather grazed her skin. The mystical sheen on her tattoos was spreading about her body, and she grabbed hold of Odile's legs. The white light spilled onto Odile's skin, and she cried out in pain. She released Ahiru and tore away, her arrogance replaced with agitation.

Ahiru flipped to her feet and stomped the ground with a violent determination. The ground shuddered, and spikes of earth shot out of the ground in a steady line towards Odile.

Odile leaped effortlessly off the ground to the roof of a building behind her. She didn't lose her balance, though the movements of the jagged columns of earth shook the building violently. Perched high above, she stared down at Ahiru in contemplation.

Ahiru knew she was thinking of the best way to take her out, and didn't allow her any more time to plan. She rushed over the ground, her body electrified with the magic that flowed through her body. The energy pulsated to her legs, and she flew into the air, aiming directly towards Odile's chest.

Odile began to move out of the way, but the adrenaline and magic had pushed Ahiru's abilities to a fever pitch. She sped up, and together she and Odile crashed through the building's roof. Odile coughed up blood as Ahiru's feet met her torso with a firm snap. They fell through the building's second floor, plaster and dust falling around them.

Ahiru did not allow her opponent time to recover. She took Odile by the wrists and swung her with all her might into a nearby wall. The resounding slam shook the building's foundation. The wall cracked and began to collapse with a groan, and Ahiru took advantage of the moment to take a deep breath and ready herself, should Odile get up.

And get up she did. Odile slowly pulled herself upright out of the rubble, her mouth dripping blood and her eyes hazy. She stumbled forward through the thick dust. "No… You will never win. You mustn't!" Odile straightened herself with a new vigor and aimed at Ahiru, her chest heaving.

Ahiru's eyes narrowed. She braced herself. "Try me."

Odile's eyes snapped.

Without warning, an array of spikes flew from all sides of the building towards Ahiru.

Alarmed, she shot upwards and clamped to the ceiling. The spikes crossed in the center of the room where she had previously stood and flew to the opposite walls, coming to a stop deep in the plaster.

Laughing, Odile stumbled forward. "You really thought you could beat me?" She asked breathlessly, licking the blood from her lips. "I was just having fun before. But the novelty has worn off… I should've just killed you like the others, before you had a chance to show off and do damage.

Ahiru grit her teeth and dropped from her hold on the ceiling. _This is going to get bad and gory real fast… I need to move this outside where I can move around._

Without another thought, she sprinted outside.

"Where are you going?!" Odile screamed. "I'm not through with you yet!" She rocketed after Ahiru.

As soon as they were a suitable distance from the buildings, Ahiru flashed around. Odile kept going and flipped over her. More dark feathers shot from her body, and Ahiru wheeled to avoid them. She squinted to take aim, and shot a burst of white energy at the dark princess. Odile bent away, but the passing blast grazed her shoulder. She fell from the air, landing hard on the ground.

Ahiru chewed her cigarette and grinned in victory. _She's been weakened - now I just have to finish her off!_

She shot towards her nemesis, her hands forming a white dagger. _I've won-!_

Just as Ahiru reached her, Odile flipped upright, a long knife in her hands.

Ahiru's eyes widened, but she was going too fast to stop.

She plowed right into the blade, coming to a halt.

Ahiru stared downwards in disbelief.

Blood dripped from the knife's handle.

_This is - a normal knife._

_Ah... A normal knife..._

_My magic has no effect on it._

Odile smiled. "Right where I wanted you."

She ripped the knife out, twisting the blade as she pulled it. Ahiru's eyes widened in agony, and she reached for her wound. Blood sprayed from her mouth.

Odile kicked her with all her might in her rib cage.

Ahiru plummeted to the ground, her hands covered in her own blood.

Odile scrutinized the blade of the knife. "Fooled you." She smiled down at her victim. "Now you pay for your ignorance." She wiped the blood off the blade carefully with a fingertip.

Then she slashed across Ahiru's chest.

Ahiru bit her lower lip, but didn't cry out.

Odile laughed, and aimed to cut again-

This time, Ahiru rolled out of the way.

Odile halted, the anger back in her eyes. "Give it up. You're finished."

Ahiru gurgled and reached groggily outwards. "No… I… I can still fight. I will."

Odile smiled and nudged her stretched arm lazily with the tip of one black shoe. "No, you won't. Look at you. All bloody and weak. You won't be getting up ever again."

Ahiru looked up at her murderer, her bangs coated with blood from the gashes on her scalp and forehead. "I…'m… not… finished… yet!" Her hand clenched into a fist and began to glow with the White Swan's power.

Odile's eyes became cold, her victorious smile dropping into an emotionless frown. "Oh, I think you are."

Ahiru's hand, fingers together and rigidly straight, shimmering with energy, flashed towards her.

But the uninjured Odile was faster. In one fluid motion, she brought the razor-sharp heel of her shoe down on Ahiru's back.

Ahiru's eyes widened. Blood immediately flooded her throat, and she hacked, violent red flowing from her mouth. Her hand twitched, then fell, the energy dissipating, to the ground.

Odile smiled again and withdrew her foot. "That's better."

Ahiru did not answer, though her wide blue eyes stared at the blood seeping out around her body from her various wounds. A shaky hand reached down to trace through the thick, sticky blood. She brought the dripping fingers up to her face, as if she was struggling to comprehend her fate. Then she let the hand drop again, closing her eyes.

Still beaming with victory, Odile turned to leave. Then, as if something had caught her eye, she paused and turned back. Going to kneel carefully next to Ahiru, she nudged a lock of damp red hair back.

An emerging white feather shone dazzlingly bright in the sun.

"A feather?" Odile plucked it and examined it, her expression disinterested. Then she tossed it aside, letting it float and drop slowly through the air. "It's a good thing I caught you before you could get any stronger. No point in drawing things out, right?"

She stood again, staring down at Ahiru. "Like a duckling that's just started to lose its down." She shook her head.

Then, without another glance, she departed.


	5. Prologue: Part Five

The moments ticked slowly by. Ahiru's hands finally rose beneath her, pushing her up just inches above the ground. Shaking and trembling, she dragged herself to where her cigarette lay on the dirt. She reached for it, missing it the first time, and rose it painstakingly to her mouth. Her other hand, stained with blood and mud, went to her pocket and pulled out her lighter. The flame of the lighter flickered and danced with each tremor of her hand. She carefully lit the cigarette, then shoved the lighter back into her pocket. She took a deep breath, staring up at the sky. "Well… I tried."

All too aware of how quickly her vision and consciousness were failing her, she smiled up at the sky. "But… It's not so bad. The next White Swan… will find the prince."

"The prince…" Her lips parted slightly in thought. "That's right. I never… got to see his face." Images of what he might've looked like flew through her faltering mind. _Oh… I have the memories… of the previous… White Swans._ At this, several fractured pictures of a young man with a brilliant smile and dancing eyes came forth. She smiled, blood rising on her cracked lips. "I hope… he made it out. I hope Odile… didn't hurt him." _And even so… I'll get to see him soon… maybe._

Her breaths became more laborious and shallow. _The prince… I'm supposed to love him, and so I do… but…_

An image of Fakir, his expression characteristically agitated, appeared before her. _That's right… I never… got to tell him._

_I hope you don't resent me for this. I'm not mad about this... Really. I'm just glad... You're safe._

_I've been searching so long for the prince, and all this time, I never said…_

Her breaths were few and far between now.

_I never told you… how I feel._

She sighed, her throat dry and aching. Now the pain was going away, along with the sensation of dripping blood.

"Fa... kir," she whispered hoarsely, her voice rusty with blood and death.

Then she was gone.

The feather Odile had plucked finally came to a rest next to Ahiru, its landing creating ripples in the pool of blood.


	6. Prologue: Part Six

"Hey."

Fakir looked up from where he'd been sweeping. The broom was nearly too much for his small hands to hold steady, yet he was bent on doing a thorough job. His father would be home soon, and he'd be angry indeed if he saw the floor still covered in dust and dirt.

So it was with irritation that he looked up at the window. "What?"

A tan, freckled face with big blue eyes stared back at him. The girl brushed a spot of mud from her cheek and held out a hand. "Got some leftovers?"

Fakir wrinkled his nose.

He'd seen her many times before, playing just outside of the camp among the trees. But she was always alone, and as a rule, no one talked to her. If she tried to reach out to an adult, the adult turned coldly away. As such, all the children followed suit.

Still she talked to whomever was around her, regardless of whether they listened or not. Fakir remembered one occasion when she'd approached him with a baby duckling in her hands.

"Take that thing away! It probably has fleas!" He'd snapped at her.

Of course, the duckling itself didn't bother him, but he didn't want anything to do with _her_.

"No. It's just like me," she'd replied, stroking its downy head with a finger.

"How's that?" he asked, lifting his chin.

"It's my namesake," she said, carefully sounding out the word.

Fakir was confused. "A duckling?"

"Ahiru means duck. Ahiru is my name," she said matter-of-factly. "Because I talk weird."

It was true that the nomads had taken to calling her Ahiru, but Fakir had never realized why. Now he remembered some of the grown ups compared her lisp to the quack of a duck, and his stomach twinged.

"Do you wanna know what my last name is?" she asked, shifting her hold on the duckling.

"No." Fakir began to walk away.

Ahiru tagged along after him. "It's Arima."

"Arima? You're crazy! You don't have a last name!"

Strictly speaking, he was right. Not one family in the camp had ever claimed her as their child. She'd been alone since birth. The only reason she'd made it past infancy was thanks to the pity of some widows who gave her clothes and a place to sleep when it grew dangerously cold out.

But one by one, those few generous widows had died, and Ahiru had no one to rely on but herself.

Fakir's eyes wandered reluctantly to Ahiru's arms...

And all because of those cursed tattoos.

Fakir had heard the adults speak of them in disgust since he'd been just a toddler.

_"It's the sign of the devil."_

_"What kind of child is born with such markings?"_

And they had spoken to the children of the camp too.

_"You must not approach her."_

_"She is bad luck."_

_"She is cursed."_

Now, the silver tattoos glinted in the sunlight. Fakir found himself gazing at the swans on the back of her hands. So intricate, so detailed... How could anyone possibly be born with tattoos like that? He could understand the adult's distrust and fear.

Ahiru spoke again. "No, it's Arima," she insisted. "I chose it."

Fakir was curious despite his distaste. "Why a name like that?"

"Because it's pretty. I made it up," she added. "Cause it sounds good with Ahiru. Don't you think?" She smiled and held the duckling closer.

"There's no such thing as a pretty duckling," he told her coldly.

She glared at him. "Well, I've never heard of a handsome Fakir, either." She whirled to leave, paused, then turned back, grinning mischievously. "Fakir..." she laughed exuberantly.

"What?" He shouted in irritation.

"That kinda sounds like a bad word," she giggled.

Then she had run away, leaving him very red in the face.

So now, for her to come asking him for food...

It was quite annoying.

"No," he lied.

She craned over the windowsill. "But I see part of a loaf of bread over there..." She pointed to the table.

"That's for our supper!" Fakir tried to shoo her away. "Now go away!"

Ahiru backed away, but didn't leave. "You and your papa are gonna eat a whole half of a loaf of bread for supper?"

"What do you care?! Go away!"

"Fine," she huffed. "I'm just hungry." She dropped from the window.

Fakir gave a sigh of relief. He heard the sound of dead leaves crunch under her feet, and felt that he had won.

But as her footsteps faded into the distance, he found himself pricked by a sudden jab of curiosity. Where did this little beggar girl live, if not in a makeshift house or tent like the rest of them?

He stood on tiptoe to get one last peek at her. She was far away by then, just a dusky, hazy figure disappearing into the darkening woods.

Fakir hurried to pull on his moccasins and, without another thought, sprinted after her into the twilight.

He followed her cautiously at a distance for several moments. She picked her way through the undergrowth and over bulky rocks, weaving through the trees. The only sound, besides the wind through the tree branches and their footsteps, was her faint humming. Fakir recognized it as a favorite tune of the camp violinist.

The whole way, Fakir stumbled several times over unseen branches and logs hidden under leaves.

Ahiru didn't falter once.

About a hundred feet outside of the camp, she stopped and with her, Fakir.

He knew this must be where she 'lived,' but couldn't see much in the darkness of the evening.

Then he heard a crack. He looked at Ahiru in surprise. She was kneeling at a stack of branches, making a fire. The warm embers shed generous golden light over the tiny clearing. Fakir sighed and stepped forward slowly. It was getting bitterly cold out now that the sun had set, and the warmth of the fire drew him in.

"That's better, isn't it?" Ahiru yawned and stretched.

Fakir waited for a moment, puzzled, then realized with a jolt that she was talking to him.

"C'mon," she dropped her arms from the stretch and stared into the shadows at Fakir. "You didn't really think that I wouldn't be able to tell that you were following me, right?"

He swallowed and stepped forward into the reach of the firelight. "You... live in the forest?"

"Looks like it, huh?" Ahiru spread her arms. "Welcome to my home!"

Fakir looked around, beyond bewilderment. "There's nothing here."

"There are trees," she said in all seriousness. "And I don't sleep on the ground. I sleep on that." She pointed to a sweater, matted with dirt and riddled with holes, that laid forlorn near the side of the fire.

Fakir said nothing, just stared at her. She gazed back unabashedly.

Their eyes gleamed, emerald and sapphire, in the golden light.

Finally, Fakir blinked and looked away. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out part of a biscuit leftover from his lunch and held it out to Ahiru.

"You're still hungry, I'll bet. You can have this, if you want."

Her gaze didn't waver. "You can spare it?"

He flushed, feeling ashamed. "Yeah."

Then she smiled, really smiled, her startlingly white teeth shining. "Thanks." She took it and bit off a large piece. "Mmf... 's good," she mumbled.

Uncertain of how to respond, he nodded.

She quickly finished it off and wiped the crumbs from her mouth with her dusty hand. "Ah... That tasted great." She beamed.

He blushed. "Well... I guess I should go. My father's gonna be really mad. He's probably home by now."

"How mad do you think he'll be?" She asked.

"Very mad. He'll probably spank me or slap me," Fakir cringed. He wasn't looking forward to returning home to his father's anger.

"Well, you should stay here then!" Ahiru spread her arms again.

"H-Here?!" Fakir was flabbergasted. "But... There's no place for me to sleep!"

"You could have the sweater, if you want," she told him generously.

"Er... No thanks," he told her.

"Alright, then," she sighed. She shook out the sweater and carefully re-positioned it. "Bye."

He stood awkwardly, unsure of whether to stay or go. He didn't want to face his father's wrath yet - and he felt an odd twinge of pity for Ahiru. He couldn't imagine how cold and lonely it was, living out here alone with only the fire for company.

So, against his better judgment, he plopped down at the base of a tree trunk.

His 'better judgment' was quickly fading.

He settled in and pulled his shirt about himself.

Something landed across his feet. He looked down in surprise.

It was the sweater.

"You can have it," Ahiru told him firmly. She leaned against the base of another tree, opposite him.

Fakir stared at it for a long moment, debating accepting it, but gave in. "Okay." He pulled it over himself and tucked it about him, like a blanket. "Thanks," he added begrudgingly.

"No problem, _Fakir,_" she snipped.

He slowly grinned despite himself.

She closed her eyes and snuggled closer to the trunk. "'Night."

He grinned wider, his eyelids drooping. "'Night... Ahiru."

Then he closed his eyes.

* * *

_Ah..._

The whole world seemed to be spinning and oozing around him.

_Awake... I'm awake..._

Fakir stumbled to his feet and braced himself against the nearby brick wall.

_Mm..._ He rubbed his face. _Ahiru... Ahiru..._

He could still see her young eyes, dancing in the firelight...

_Ahiru!_

He really awoke then, his eyes snapping fully open.

He shook himself. "Ahiru...!" _Did she make it out?_

_Did she..._

He sprinted through the town, squinting through the dark night.

_Did she win?_

Panic, creeping into hysteria, spread throughout him as he searched lane after lane. _She... she said she'd release the spell herself!_

_So if she's nowhere around..._

He was out of breath, but pushed himself to run faster. "Ahiru!" He shouted.

There was no answer.

There was no sound but the whistle of the night air.

He finally made it back to the town square.

_Ahiru would've wanted to fight in an open area... To have a better bearing of the battle._

_So..._

His foot stepped on something squishy and wet.

He looked down in shock.

A trail of dark blood shown in the faint light of the moon.

His legs trembled, and his teeth chattered.

He forced himself to follow the trail, fighting to keep his knees from buckling.

There, under the moonlight...

He fell to his knees.

...

No scream could've released the anguish inside of him.

"AUGHHHHHHHHH!" He threw his head back, tears streaming down his face. The scream echoed and resonated in the buildings around him, mirroring back to him his own sorrow.

He reached out and caressed the pale corpse with trembling hands. "Ahiru..." His voice broke, and he pulled her into his arms. She looked so fragile in the sickly moonlight, with her white skin coated in splotches of her own blood and her thin, limp limbs...

He sobbed without abandon and held her closer, burying his face in her hair. "You promised..."

"...You promised you wouldn't leave me!" He bit his lower lip, trying to hold back his angst. "And I..." his voice cracked again. "I promised I would protect you!"

_I promised - swore - to protect you... You've been the one constant throughout my life... Always there... And, I -_

_I love you!_

He traced her lips with shaking fingers. So dainty, even under the blood and dirt... The lips that would never again reassure him with a smile, or taunt him, or offer comfort.

"Ah..."

_And I couldn't protect you... I swore to, but my words meant nothing..._

_My failure cost you your life._

His tears fell onto her face, creating damp, dusty spots where they landed. He crushed her closer to him.

"And Odile..."

His voice became thick with rage. He could almost see every blow, feel every slice, as if it had been him right there with Ahiru. The malice, the evil...

"Odile..."

A dark figure with a satisfied smile, leaving Ahiru dead in her wake...

He grit his teeth, his eyes hazed over with fury.

"ODILE!" he roared.

"YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS! YOU WILL PAY FOR AHIRU'S DEATH!"

The darkness encroached around him, insensitive to his heartbreak.

"ODILLLLLLLLLE!" He screamed again.

The scream echoed through the surrounding woods for miles.


	7. Author's notes (Prologue)

After such a heart-breaking prologue, I think it's time for a breath.

So here are some author's notes for those interested in knowing a little more about the background of this fanfic.

I haven't been posting notes for the prologue, but mostly because I didn't want to take away from the pacing of the story. And besides, nothing breaks the mood more than being in the middle of an intense part of the story... and then reading the author gushing over something. I didn't want that in this fanfic, so I've compiled some stuff for you right here! I hope you enjoy ^^

I first came up with this idea while reading The Record of a Fallen Vampire. It was the first manga I ever seriously got into, and I recently purchased and reread Volume One. And while reading it again, I realized there were a LOT of parallels between some of the main characters of that manga and the main characters in Princess Tutu.

There is a character in the Record of a Fallen Vampire called Yuki. She is a Black Swan, cursed to hunt down and kill the Vampire King and Queen or die in 5 years. The cycle continues until the King and Queen die, and each Black Swan grows stronger. This was the basis for the idea of the White Swan here, but as you'll see, there are many differences between the two as well. For example, the White Swan was created as a personification of Odette's will to be reunited with Siegfried - she has magic to **protect** herself against the sinister Odile, not to hunt Odile down. And the White Swan's power does not really change from each generation.

Anyways, Yuki has a dhampire named Renka travelling with her - and he has feelings for her.

Eh...? ;)

So, here are some parallels between the Yuki and Renka, and Ahiru/Duck and Fakir - from Princess Tutu, not this fanfic.

-Yuki and Ahiru are both redheads with their hair pulled back. Yuki has pigtails, and Ahiru has a braid.

-Yuki is cursed to kill the King and Queen or die in the process. Ahiru is pretty much doomed to die as Princess Tutu, when she confesses her love.

-Both Ahiru and Yuki are optimistic, even in the face of their 'certain' doom.

-Neither confess their feelings to their loved ones - Yuki dies before answering Renka's proposal, and Ahiru is not allowed to tell Mytho of her love for him.

-Both Renka and Fakir pull their hair back, and both are good swordsman.

-Both try, with little success, to protect the girl they love.

-Renka essentially reminds me of what Fakir would've become had Tutu died by Kraehe's hand - say, in episode 13.

So if you are looking for a way to better understand this prologue, I HIGHLY recommend reading the first 80 pages or so of The Record of a Fallen Vampire. It might help you piece together the way this fanfic is progressing...

... But the similarities end there.

From here on out, this fanfic is completely its own - and I look forward to sharing with you the rest of this sometimes happy, sometimes tragic, but always melancholy tale.


	8. Prologue: Of sacrifice and faith

13 years later

* * *

The metal tools clinked and chattered in the night breeze.

The sparse wooden walls did nothing to keep the dark chill from writhing through the barn. It found its way through each crack and crevice, its creeping descent halted only by the blaze of warmth of the fire.

He crouched before the flames, the light dancing off his eyes in a beautiful and eerie display. He held his hands out to it - the heat was making him sweat, and he knew it was nearly time.

The golden shades fell upon his skin in a sharp contrast to the grey shadows on his back. He closed his eyes - the robust warmth was irresistible. How he wanted to embrace it, and hold it close...

But it was for another type of warmth that he was doing this. His heart skipped a beat at the thought. The fire's reds and yellows and oranges, woven together so artfully... His chest ached with wistful longing.

The longing that tore at him, and the sorrow beyond his years; they were two sides of the same coin. Constantly wrestling and pushing and pulling, threatening to tear him apart and drive him mad... The blue eyes that haunted and beckoned him into the shadows of his dreams, the red eyes that chased him back in terror.

Outside, a nearby tree's branches scrapped against the barn's roof. The wall creaked and groaned in reply, throwing a flurry of leaf-dappled shadows across the dirt floor.

He remained still for another moment in silent meditation.

Then he stood and rolled up the sleeves of his thin button-up shirt. The light of the fire caught the small hairs going up his forearm, and his tendons faintly flexed as he held up a piece of parchment to the firelight.

In elegant, precise cursive, the parchment held his fate.

_What would you do for peace of mind?_

Another strong gust of autumn wind came, making the fire's embers flicker and raising the skin on his exposed arms into goosebumps.

_What would you do for her?_

He set his mouth in a determined line and folded the parchment back into his pocket.

_To protect against fate... There is no such thing._

He closed his eyes in deep concentration.

_And yet..._

His arms flashed upwards, crossing before him at the wrist, hands up and palms out. The firelight caressed his dark eyelashes generously.

For so long he'd been powerless, caught in a war that he played a meager role in. But now, he was at his wit's end with desperation. The pain and malice had been stretching on for too many years, robbing and depriving them all of life and love...

_What would you do for love? For life? For everyone around you?_

_To sacrifice one freedom..._

_If it would spare somebody that you loved, and spare your world and its inhabitants..._

His eyes opened.

"By the will of all divine, hear me." His voice commanded over the night wind and the lonely, eerie peal of metal and branches.

He drew a swan feather from his pocket, held it tenderly in his cupped hands.

"I release this freedom-!"

He held it up above the fire, the white of the feather touched lightly by the firelight.

"I release this freedom!" he yelled into the darkness. "I release this freedom-"

His hands parted abruptly. The feather did not fall from its stolen support, but remained suspended in the air, a ghostly curve in the sharp contrast of black and gold.

"For her, for them-"

The fire blazed into an awesome inferno. The flames reached up with scorching fingers about the feather. The blast of heat that hit him was a mirror to his own heart. The love and desire and devotion within him rose to a fever pitch alongside the fire with his resolve...

"I release you!" he screamed.

The fire's light rose to that of a blinding oven. The feather was ablaze in glorious gilt, and-

With a gale of frigid air, the fire went out.

All was silent and black.

* * *

A thousand miles away, a young girl shifted in her bed.

Then she sat abruptly upright, her eyes wide with fear.

She felt her chest for something, as if searching for a pocket or necklace.

She found nothing... Felt nothing.

Her lips trembled with horror.

"It's gone," she whispered.


End file.
